But You Won't Remember Me
by Universal Dogma
Summary: Waking up one day, Arthur feels like something's missing. Part of the 'na déithe de fadó' verse.


**Disclaimer:** Merlin is not mine... I just play around with them for fun. And possibly cruelty.

Second in the _na Déithe de fadó_ 'verse! Takes place after Merlin leaves in _I'll Always Say 'I Love You'_.

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><p><em>sad?<em>

_Huh?_ The first thing he noticed when he woke up was his phone ringing; Morgana's annoying ringtone and he groaned, reaching out for his phone. He winced as he heard his phone undoubtedly crash to the floor, as he sat up slowly. Opening his eyes blearily, he was surprised to find himself on his couch, with a killer headache and disorientation. _How much did I drink?_ He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked over the side of the couch, to where his phone has fallen.

Dutifully ignoring the severe feeling of disorientation, he picked his phone up. Wait. What? _Seven missed calls from Morgana? The hell!_

Sighing, he prepared himself for yelling as he pressed accept.

"Why haven't you been answering?" As Morgana went on her tirade, him grunting in appropriate pauses, he looked out of the windows, and calm washed over him. Night was beautiful, all lights and contrast, with barely there stars. It felt like taking a breath of fresh air, even though he knew he was in his house.

Hacking out a cough suddenly, he closed his eyes as he hugged himself, stretching his muscles. It felt like a vital part of him was missing, like he left a limb somewhere, or got a lobotomy and _why is that?_ Caught in a coughing fit, that feeling of loss, and balance like he's on a boat rocking in waves, it was surprising when a strong female voice called out to him.

"ARTHUR!" Morgana screamed, snapping him out of the chaos in his head. Taking in deep breaths, he managed a groan in reply. "Where are you? Are you okay!"

"Mor-"gulping, he sounded like he hadn't spoken in years, "I'm... fine. At my house." He rasped out, and he could Morgana's disapproval over the phone.

"Did you drink today?" She asked suspiciously, and he winced at her tone, and this is one of those times where he's glad mobile phones exist. Biting his lip, he thought back on his day...

"I remember getting that message from Angel," cough, "but then... nothing. I don't think I've had anything to drink today." He finished warily, not sure if he could risk getting up to get a drink of water.

"Arthur."

"I'm serious!" Cough.

"... You should really get that checked out." She said dryly, "you've had it on and off for months."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"So, are you coming to the office?" Groaning, he rubbed his forehead as he remembered they were doing something important, though the details have become a bit fuzzy.

"No, I'm not."

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><p>Weeks passed, and everything got back to normal. Well, aside from the occasional bout of nausea, and the feeling of loss. And the escalating cough, and for some reason his throat wasn't co-operating with him sometimes...<p>

It could pass for normal.

And then he coughed up blood.

_Cancer_. He has _cancer._

Oesophageal cancer. The drinking, the higher risk in men, he zoned out in shock. Surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation and who knows what else was penned in for his new schedule instead of going to work, or _living_.

_Cancer._

* * *

><p><em>2010 - December 31<em>_st__ 2014_

Constant radiation, chemotherapy, surgeries, repeated ad nauseum.

His parents and friends were already looking at him like he's dead already. Tears in eyes, the whole works. If he weren't so numb to the process, he would be breaking down every other day. The feeling of loss hurt more than the whole oesophageal cancer. Or maybe his priorities were out of order.

He should find living in the hospital to be hell, but he just ceased feeling after the first three years. So the cancer made him defeatist, oesophageal cancer is hard to cure, and even with all the latest advancements, he was still a rotting, breathing corpse anyway. Artificially breathing. Even with multiple surgeries, the cancer kept coming back.

Closing his eyes, he could hear the celebration of another year coming to an end, a cacophony of giddiness and _anticipation_. As well as loss for what wasn't achieved, things that never came to be.

The last thought before he died was of blue eyes changing to a spectacular gold, eyes he yearned to see with all his soul.

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><p><em>1<em>_st__ January, 2015_

In turn, Europe celebrated a new year.

Merlin screamed in agony throughout the celebrations, the feeling of being ripped in half as Arthur died, which he felt every time. The pain would not stop until Arthur is to be born again.

As he mourned (_screamed_) Arthur's death, the ground rumbled.

**[Fin]**


End file.
